


For the Soul

by TrinityEverett



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, season 8 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrinityEverett/pseuds/TrinityEverett
Summary: "He'd suspected something was up the other day when there'd been a rasp to her voice, but this only confirms it. She's sick. Pretty miserable he would guess." - Early in their "time out" period, Beckett catches a cold. Season 8 fic, Caskett.
Relationships: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	For the Soul

**For the Soul**

**An early Season 8 fic**

* * *

He hears her before he sees her, the bark of a cough that, had it been Alexis, would've meant dropping everything to spend an afternoon in the waiting room at the doctor. He'd suspected something was up the other day when there'd been a rasp to her voice, a twang brought on by swollen nasal passages, and he'd seen her hand stray to rub along her forehead more often than normal (which is saying something, given how often she seems to rub her forehead when he's around these days), but this only confirms it.

She's sick. Pretty miserable he would guess, assuming she feels even half as bad as she sounds.

The coffee warming his hand probably isn't the best choice to help remedy the situation, but he knows his wife; she won't accept a tea instead. That would mean admitting defeat, admitting the cold or whatever bug she's suffering from has gotten the better of her and Kate Beckett won't do that here at the precinct, not now that she feels like she has so much to prove.

He can't help but wonder what it is she needs to prove by being away from him, but he can't dwell on it right now, not when there's coffee to be delivered and – potentially – a case to find his way into solving with her. Like old times.

"Good morning, Captain," he offers as he rounds the corner and steps into her office without invitation. His eyes sweep over her face, taking in the pallor of her skin, the redness on her nose and eyes that even her skilled hand couldn't hide with make-up. She looks exhausted and more than a little pitiful, but he wisely keeps the observation to himself. "Brought you a coffee."

Her shoulders tense, lifting toward her ears for a split second before she relaxes and reaches for the cup. "Thanks," she murmurs, waiting a beat after taking a sip to remind him that he shouldn't be there.

Rick ignores that part, looking around the office and glancing out into the bullpen. "Seems pretty quiet so far."

"Mmm. Give it time. Ryan and Esposito just left on a call and I've got two people out sick."

"From the way you sounded as I was walking in, it should probably be three," he says, bracing himself for the blowback. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"I'm fine," she clips, attempting to hide another cough in her arm before picking up her pen again. "It's just a cold."

Yeah, right. He doesn't press the issue, though, instead dragging a chair closer and taking his seat with a defiant finality that makes her eyes flash.

"Castle–"

"I'll wait for the guys to get back, see if there's anything to their case," he says with a nonchalance he doesn't feel. He doesn't want to fight, but if his morning is going to be spent locked in this stalemate, watching her pretend she isn't sick, then so be it. He's not going anywhere until she tells him to, and she hasn't kicked him out yet.

She sighs, brushing a hand over her forehead. Her eyes slip shut and he sees the effort it takes to peel them open again. Just a cold, his ass. "Fine."

* * *

The rest of his day goes by in a blur. Between mulling yet again over his relationship with his wife, deciding to make her soup despite her insistence that she's fine, and spending much of the afternoon making said soup, he's wiped out. So much so that it's barely eight-thirty when the first tendrils of sleep start to tug at his eyelids, pulling him under right there on the couch.

He's jolted out of sleep a little while later by the scrape of a key in the lock. Nobody should be here right now. He'd spoken to his mother earlier, assuring her that she didn't need to drop by to babysit him – same thing with his daughter – but that doesn't mean she hasn't disregarded his words and come over anyway. Especially if the date she'd been talking about hadn't gone well, she might have come to commiserate with him. It might also be Alexis determined to keep him company as she has the last few days, weeks, since Kate's abrupt exit from the loft.

The door swings open finally to reveal neither of his expected guests. Instead, Beckett trudges inside, looking like she's ready to drop at any moment. He's on his feet in seconds, closing the distance between them and wrapping an arm around her weary form. For the first time in weeks, she gives no protest, doesn't shy away from his touch, she simply leans into him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," she says after a minute, her voice muffled and quiet against his skin. "I didn't even think when I left my office."

"You're burning up," he says instead of giving into the hope that blossoms at her words. Her first instinct had been to come home. Not to go back to wherever it is she's staying, but to come to him for comfort, for sanctuary, and his heart thumps harder against his ribs at the thought. "Have you taken anything?"

"Not since lunch."

He nods, already leading her toward their bedroom. "I bet that was the last time you ate, too?"

She gives him a tired nod in return, tightening her grip on his waist. "I feel like shit, Rick."

His lips brush her hairline. "Don't take this the wrong way, Beckett, but you look like you feel like shit too."

Kate backs away, her brow furrowing at his comment. "Well, don't hold back on my account."

"I didn't say you _look_ bad," he says, lifting a hand in supplication. "I just agreed that you look like you _feel_ bad."

He rubs her back, allowing his lips to lift when hers do. She snorts, releasing a tired laugh. It quickly becomes a cough that rocks her body hard enough for him to feel with his arm around her waist.

"Yeah," she breathes once the fit subsides. "I'm sure I do."

"Come on, then," he murmurs, drawing her closer again and leading the rest of the way to their bed. "You need to rest."

She hits the mattress in a graceless heap, allowing him to ease her feet out of her heels without protest. They work together to wiggle her blazer off her shoulders and he looks to her for permission before touching his fingers to the button on her slacks.

"Can I have one of your shirts?" she asks as he eases her pants down her legs.

"Pants, too," he promises, watching her shiver. He makes quick work of her blouse and bra, dropping only the softest of kisses on her bare shoulder, getting up and digging the softest t-shirt and pajama pants he can find from his drawer.

She exhales once she's under the covers, sinking into her pillow. His heart stumbles at the sight of her in their bed once more.

"Stay awake for a few more minutes, okay?" he asks, brushing soft fingers over her cheek. "I'm going to get you some food and something for your fever."

"Kay," she says, though he's not entirely convinced she'll be able to stick to that bargain. Her eyelids are already drooping. He'll have to wake her up if she dozes, though; she can't go without something to bring her fever down.

Sure enough, her eyes are shut when he returns with a tray. Setting the reheated soup and water aside, he brushes her hair off her cheek. Whispering her name doesn't rouse her, nor does the gentle touch of his fingers on her face. It's only after he rocks her shoulder that he's met with a bleary, confused blink.

"Mmm, Cas'le?"

"Yeah, it's just me," he assures. "Sit up for me, okay? Just for a minute or two; I need you to take this. It'll help with the cough, too, hopefully."

She groans, looking as if it's taking every ounce of her energy just to heave herself halfway up the pillow. She downs the pills he offers her with a grimace, holding the water between both hands.

"Made you some soup," he says once she hands the glass back. "I was going to bring it to you tomorrow at work, but–"

"You made me soup?" she repeats, blinking again. "When?"

"Earlier. I thought you could use it even though you were 'fine,' so after I left the precinct I whipped up your favorite."

She nods almost to herself. "My favorite," she murmurs, sniffing. Her face crumples, her voice cracking on her next words, "You made my favorite, Rick."

He lifts the bowl from the tray, scooting closer and swiping his thumb over her cheek. "Of course I did, Kate. I don't… I don't understand what's going on in your head right now, but I don't want you to be miserable."

She sways into his touch, her eyes slipping shut again. "I'm sorry. I should – I can go."

"Or you could eat your soup," he counters, trying to keep his voice light. "You're dead on your feet; just eat and get some sleep. Whatever you want – need – to do in the morning, do it in the morning."

His wife nods, resting her cheek against his palm for a moment longer before swallowing and allowing her eyes to open. "Thank you."

He makes sure she's okay to hold the bowl and bring the spoon to her lips before dusting his mouth across her forehead.

"Always."

* * *

_Prompt from Anonymous: "Would you consider writing a fic set in early season 8 where Beckett and Castle are separated and Beckett gets really sick, maybe like walking pneumonia or something, and is overworked being the new captain and Castle gets really concerned"_

_I hope you liked this, Anon! Thank you for reading._


End file.
